without some such abuse, as to the which Bradford would not consent; the Bishop yet perceiving that Bradford was willing to enter into the ministry, was content to order him deacon, without any abuse, even as he desired. This being done, he obtained for him a license to preach, and did give him a prebend in his cathedral church of St. Paul's.

In this preaching office, by the space of three years, how faithfully Bradford walked, how diligently he laboured, many parts of England can testify. Sharply he opened and reproved sin, sweetly he preached Christ crucified, pithily he impugned heresies and errors, earnestly he persuaded to godly life. After the death of blessed young King Edward the Sixth, when Queen Mary had gotten the crown, still continued Bradford diligent in preaching, until he was unjustly deprived, both of his office and liberty, by the Queen and her council. To the doing whereof, because they had no just cause, they took occasion to do this injury, for such an act as, amongst Turks and infidels, would have been with thankfulness rewarded, and with great favour accepted, as indeed it did no less deserve.

The fact was this: the 13th of August, in the first year of the reign of Queen Mary, M. Bourn, then Bishop of Bath, made a seditious sermon at Paul's cross, in London, to set Popery abroad, in such sort that it moved the people to no small indignation, being almost ready to pull him out of the pulpit. Neither the reverence of the place, nor the presence of B. Bonner, who was his master, nor yet the commandment of the mayor of London, whom the people ought to have obeyed, stayed their rage; but the more they spake, the more the people were incensed. At length Bourn, sceing the people in such a mood, and himself in such peril (whereof he was sufficiently warned by the hurling of a drawn

dagg at him as he stood in the pulpit), and that he was put from ending his sermon, fearing lest (against his will) he should there end his wretched life, desired Bradford, who stood in the pulpit behind him, to come forth, and to stand in his place and speak unto the people. Good Bradford, at his request, was content, and there spake unto the people of godly and quiet obedience, whom, as soon as the people saw to begin to speak unto them, so glad they were to hear him, that they cried with a great shout, "Bradford, Bradford, God save thy life, Bradford !" well declaring, not only what affection they bare unto him, but also what regard they gave unto his words. For after that he had entered a little to preach unto them, and to exhort them to quiet and patience, eftsoons all the raging ceased, and they in the end quietly departed each man to his house. Yet in the mean season (for it was a long time before that so great a multitude could all depart) Bourn thought (and truly) himself not yet full sure of his life, till he were safely housed, notwithstanding that the Mayor and Sheriffs of London were there to help him. Wherefore he desired Bradford not to depart from him till he were in safety; which Bradford, according to his promise, performed. For while the Mayor and Sheriffs did lead Bourn to the schoolmaster's house, which is next to the pulpit, Bradford went at his back, shadowing him from the people with his gown, and so to set him safe.

Let the reader now consider the peril of Bourn, the charity of Bradford, and the headiness of the multitude, and also the grudging minds of certain, which yet still there remained behind, grieved not a little in their minds, to see that so good a man should save the life of such a Popish priest, so impudently and openly railing against King Edward. Among whom one gentleman said these words: "Ah, Brad

ford, Bradford! thou savest him that will help to burn thee. I gave thee his life; if it were not for thee, I would (I assure thee) run him through with my sword." Thus Bourn for that time, through Bradford's means, escaped bodily death; but God hatla his judgment to be shewed in the time appointed.

The same Sunday in the afternoon Bradford preached at the Bow church, in Cheapside, and reproved the people sharply for their seditious misdemeanour. After this he did abide still in Loudon, with an innocent conscience, to try what should become of his just doing.

Within three days after, he was sent for to the Tower of London, where the Queen then was, to appear there before the council. There was he

charged with this act of saving of Bourn, which act they there called seditious, and also objected against him for preaching, and so by them he was committed, first to the Tower, then unto other prisons, out of which neither his innocency, godliness, nor charitable dealing could purchase to him liberty of body, till by death (which he suffered for Christ's cause) he obtained the heavenly liberty, of which neither Pope nor Papist shall ever deprive him. From the Tower he came to the King's Bench, in Southwark; and after his condemnation, he was sent to the Compter in the Poultry, in London; in which two places, for the time he did remain prisoner, he preached twice a day continually, unless sickness hindered him: where also the sacrament was often ministered, and through his means (the keepers so well did bear with him) such resort of good folks was daily to his lecture, and to the ministration of the sacrament, that commonly his chamber was well nigh filled therewith. Preaching, reading, and praying, was all his whole life. He did not cat above one meal a day, which was but very little when he took

it; and his continual study was upon his knees. In the midst of dinner, he used oftentimes to muse with himself, having his hat over his eyes, from whence came commonly plenty of tears, dropping on his trencher. Very gentle he was to man and child, and in so good credit with his keeper, that at his desire in an evening (being prisoner in the King's Bench in Southwark) he had license, upon his promise to return again that night, to go into London without any keeper, to visit one that was sick, lying by the Steelyard. Neither did he fail his promise, but returned unto his prison again, rather preventing his hour, than breaking his fidelity, so constant was he in word and deed.

Of personage he was somewhat tall and slender, spare of body, of a faint sanguine colour, with an auburn beard. He slept not commonly above four hours in the night; and in his bed, till sleep came, his book went not out of his hand. His chief recreation was, in no gaming or other pastime, but only in honest company, and comely talk, wherein he would spend a little time after dinner at the board, and so to prayer and his book again. He counted that hour not well spent, wherein he did not some good, either with his pen, study, or in exhorting of others, &c. He was no niggard of his purse, but would liberally participate that he had to his fellow-prisoners and commonly once a week he visited the thieves, pick-purses, and such others that were with him in prison, where he lay, on the other side, unto whom he would give godly exhortation, to learn the amendment of their lives by their troubles; and after that so done, distributed among them some portion of money to their comfort.

By the way, I thought not to conceal, while he was in the King's Bench, and Master Saunders in the Marshalsea, both prisoners, on the back side of

those two prisons, they met many times, and conferred together when they would; so mercifully did the Lord work for them, even in the midst of their troubles: and the said Bradford was so trusted with his keeper, and had such liberty in the backside, that there was no day but that he might have easily escaped away if he would, but that the Lord had another work to do for him. In the summer-time, while he was in the said King's Bench, he had liberty of his keeper to ride into Oxfordshire, to a merchant's house of his acquaintance, and horse and all things prepared for him for that journey, and the party in a readiness that should ride with him; but God prevented him by sickness that he went not at all.

One of his old friends and acquaintance came unto him whilst he was prisoner, and asked him, if he sued to get him out, what then he would do, or whither he would go? Unto whom he made answer, as not caring whether he went out or no; but if he did, he said he would marry, and abide still in England secretly, teaching the people as the times would suffer him, and occupy himself that way. He was had in so great reverence and admiration with all good men, that a multitude, which never knew him but. by fame, greatly lamented his death: yea, and a number of the Papists themselves wished heartily his life. There were few days in which he was thought not to spend some tears before he went to bed; neither was there ever any prisoner with him, but by his company he greatly profited, as all they will yet witness, and have confessed of him, no less to the glory of God, whose society the frequented, as among many, one special thing I thought to note, which is this.

Bishop Farrar, being in the King's Bench, prisoner, was pressed withal of the Papists, in the end of